Rhythm of the Heart
by Emmy Kay
Summary: "Every dance is a love story. Sometimes it's romantic, sometimes it's just sex, sometimes it's I love to hate you. Whatever the story, that's up to you to make it real enough for the judges to believe it." AU. Kakashi/Iruka Latin Dance


Title: Rhythm of the Heart

Summary: "Every dance is a love story. Sometimes it's romantic, sometimes it's just sex, sometimes it's I love to hate you. Whatever the story, that's up to you to make it real enough for the judges to believe it." AU. Kakashi/Iruka Latin Dance

Notes: Originally written for the Summer 2012 Round of the KakaIru Fest on LiveJournal. Small changes since that version.

Prompt: _pain is inevitable, suffering is optional_

Author's Notes: Thinking about "Innocent Steps of a Dancer" and "Strictly Ballroom" with a touch of "Shall We Dance?" (Japanese version). Thanks to my beta Anenko, who is awesome in so many ways.

Disclaimer: Naruto and all affiliated characters belong to Kishimoto Masashi. This story is written without permission and for personal/fan/nonprofit entertainment purposes only.

* * *

They pinned him down in his club, his refuge, the place he had finally settled after years of wandering. Outside of his home, this was the place he had felt most secure. Now that security was threatened. By his so-called friends.

"Kakashi - " Rin began. "At Kuropuuru - "

"No," Kakashi refused.

"_He_ is going to be there," Obito said. "The Land of the Waves International Latin Competition - "

"No," Kakashi repeated.

"_He_ has got a new student, someone he says was better than you ever were, beyond your ability. He's going to destroy your reputation."

Kakashi snorted. "I don't have one anyway. Not after all this time."

"You should think about Minato's reputation, then."

"I don't." Unconsciously, Kakashi touched the bottom tip of the long-healed scar that ran from the middle of his forehead, clipped his left eyelid, missed his bloodied iris, and continued over his left cheekbone.

Rin's eyes were sad. "You do."

The door of the club flung open, banging against the wall. They all turned. A lean panther-like man stood at the door, his mouth open in a fanged smile. "Kakashi!"

Kakashi tipped his head. "Zabuza."

Zabuza pushed a boy ahead of him. "Meet Haku. He's my latest protégé."

"Haku," Kakashi acknowledged.

The impossibly beautiful young man, a boy, really, looked up at Zabuza. After a "go on" from his mentor, he nodded toward the adults in front of him.

"Good for you." When Zabuza opened his mouth to speak, Kakashi continued, "Whether Haku gets something out of it, well, that's something else."

"I was going to try to have a civil conversation with you, for once. But I see there is no point." Zabuza snarled, "I challenge you! Meet me in Kuropuuru. I will show you which of us is the better dancer, the better teacher, the better man."

"I'm afraid I have better things to do." Kakashi yawned.

Zabuza looked around the faded room of the dance hall, the shabbiness evident in the cold white light of day. "Like what?" He snorted.

Obito growled, but Rin dug an elbow into his side, shaking her head.

"You own this place? This third-string social dance club? Where dancers get paid for every partner they get?" Zabuza tsked.

The barb stung. After a brief struggle, Kakashi said coolly, "Second-string, if you please. The dancers don't go out with the customers."

Zabuza said, "Maybe it's better _he_ can't see you."

Kakashi's voice caused a 20-degree drop in the room. "He's dead. Leave him alone."

"The famous Kakashi Hatake. Pro at six, peaked at 12, a killer at 18, washed up at 26. It's funny. How wrong he was about your prospects."

Kakashi shook his head. "No - "

"I think you need to think about Minato - "

"No - I don't - "

"Minato - "

"I'll do it," Kakashi said abruptly. "Anything to shut you up."

Zabuza was taken aback. "Do you even have a partner?"

"I'll take the next person who walks in the door." Kakashi was confident that one of his dancers would be coming any minute now. Probably Sakura. Sure, they wouldn't win, but the fact of her existence would be enough to fend off Zabuza. At least for a while. Anything further, he wouldn't worry about.

The door opened slowly. A masculine voice called out, "Hello?"

Kakashi squinted, taking in the outline of a medium-height man with a short ponytail at the top of his head silhouetted in the bright daylight outside.

In the stunned silence his entry caused, Iruka said, "Hey, Kakashi. You wanted me to cover the bar tonight, right? "

Zabuza began to laugh.

* * *

"Wait, what? You want me to do what?" Iruka was astonished. He had watched the man sling an arm over that beautiful boy and they disappeared into the night, pausing only when the man convulsed, laughing too hard to continue walking.

"Dance. Ballroom." Kakashi's face was expressionless, his voice flat. "I'll pay you. Same as if you were bartending."

"Okay, money is great, but why - " Iruka shook his head. "This was just too weird." Sure, he needed the money, but still. Dance? The last time he had danced, really danced and not just dry-humped and booty-shimmied through an evening was when he was twelve. The photo still sat upon his aunt's mantelpiece, much to his shame. His hair was gelled flat and comb-marked, his braces-covered teeth pulled back into an embarrassed grin. His boutonniere was set with a carnation, his jacket was a terrible red and black houndstooth. His partner had been a slightly older, much taller girl in pink frills, white cotton gloves, and black patent leather shoes. His aunt and her mother had cooed at them just before the flash blinded them at his first and last formal of Miss Nagiro's Kiddie Dance Academy.

At this point, he was grabbed by a man he'd never seen before. "You have to," the man said.

"You are - " Iruka asked, pointedly looking down at the hands still on his shirt.

"I'm sorry," said the auburn-haired woman. "We're old friends of Kakashi. I'm Rin."

"I'm Obito Uchiha," said the black-haired man.

"Why do I have to, Obito Uchiha?"

"Because Kakashi's pride is on the line."

Iruka blinked. "Kakashi's pride?" he said incredulously. "I like the guy fine, but I think you're seriously mistaken. I don't think pride is an issue. This is a guy who runs a dance club with a bar whose biggest selling drink is 'the slammin' ninja.' Besides," Iruka softened his voice, "I am not a dancer."

"Kakashi can make you a dancer," Rin said.

"Look - I don't know who you people are - "

"I'm his publicist," Rin said.

"I'm his lawyer," Obito said.

"Well, okay." Iruka paused, his perception of Kakashi having been successfully challenged. "I still think you've got the wrong guy. I'll do a lot for money for school - bartend, tutor, DJ - but I am not a dancer."

"Kakashi can make anyone a dancer," Rin said.

"You've said that already! You're talking about a guy who barely moves to change cd's between songs," Iruka scoffed.

"He is one of the best dancers you'll ever see," Obito said. "Our teacher said so. And our teacher was a genius. Minato - "

Iruka frowned. He'd heard that name before. "Minato Uzumaki?"

They nodded. "How do you know Minato Uzumaki?"

Iruka sighed. Now it was his turn to confess. "I went to dance classes when I was a kid. Minato Uzumaki was my teacher's idol. She loved when he showed up on TV. She even had his picture on the wall."

"So you know."

Iruka protested. "I still don't think being able to dance translate to being able to teach. I mean, just because I can solve partial derivatives doesn't mean that I can teach how to solve them."

Rin looked at Iruka, a knowing light in her eye. "Can you?"

"Yes," Iruka admitted. "But those are different skills!"

"You had dance classes," Obito said. "That's a start."

"Guys," Kakashi said. "Beat it."

"But - but - but Kakashi," Obito stammered.

"No," Kakashi said. "He'll agree, or he won't. And if he won't, there's no point in badgering him. I mean, it's doubtful that _his_ long-lost dance rival will pop up and challenge him to a dance duel-off."

Iruka began to chuckle. This was the cool, ironic Kakashi he knew. "Doubtful."

"Crazy." Kakashi said.

"Unlikely." Iruka nodded, starting to smile.

"Mind-bogglingly, infinitesimally small chance of that," Kakashi said.

"Just so," Iruka said, with a laugh.

"I'll figure this out on my own," Kakashi said, angling away, his body language closing the door on this particular subject.

Iruka frowned, this whole situation struck him as being wrong. He liked Kakashi. They'd been friendly since he had started work at the bar some six months previous. Also, he was curious as heck about why these people were interested in him in particular. "So, what's the deal with your long-lost dance rival?"

Kakashi sighed and gestured to the barstool next to him. "Drink?"

Iruka sat, but refused the drink.

Kakashi poured himself a single finger of whisky. He threw it back. Then he thumped the glass back onto the bar. "Zabuza and I have been rivals a long time. I entered a lot of talent contests as a kid. I've beaten him a lot. He just carries it around. I guess he likes to suffer."

"Well," Iruka said, cautiously, "I'd like to help."

Kakashi looked at him with narrowed eyes. He scribbled something on a coaster. "Be at this address tomorrow at noon. We'll start then. We've got less than four months to get you in shape."

"I can't - " Iruka said. "Remember? I asked for the day off. I've got to move out of my old place and back home."

"Good," Kakashi grunted. "You can move into the studio."

"Uh, no," Iruka said, shaking his head. "I don't know how much -"

"It's free."

"Oh. Okay." Iruka wished he hadn't told Kakashi quite so much about his precarious financial situation. "You sure?"

"I'm always sure."

* * *

The building was in a sketchy part of town, but no worse than a lot of his student housing, so Iruka didn't mind. The first floor was devoted to beauty salon, the second to a smallish studio and storage. At the top of the landing of the third floor, Kakashi pulled out a set of keys and opened a door, revealing a large living room, the only furniture a beaten-looking couch, a low table and an ancient television set on top of an old VCR player. Iruka followed, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder. He had reluctantly left the second bag at the bottom landing. (Kakashi had not bothered to offer assistance.) He tossed the keys to Iruka. "Your room has its own lock. There's also a key to the studio."

There was another door the lead off the top of the stairs. Iruka saw there was an extra key on the ring. "What's that?"

"The roof," Kakashi said shortly. "We're going to share a bathroom and kitchen. My room's to the right."

Iruka opened the door and looked around. It was small, but very private, sparsely furnished bedroom. Still, it was bigger and better than anything Iruka would have been able to afford on his own.

"Hey - thank..." Iruka turned. Kakashi had disappeared.

The next morning, Iruka awoke to a thump on his door. As he stirred, he groaned. The bed had all the resiliency and give of a piece of marble. He ached all over. He didn't know how he was going to last three months on that slab of rock.

Iruka padded into the kitchen on his bare feet. He reached into the cupboard for his morning cereal and found a note on the table. "Meet me in the studio."

After eating and showering, Iruka came down through the second floor hall and peeked through the half-open door. It had been a small ballet studio in a previous life; full-length mirrors and a barre were along one wall, high arched windows flooded the room with light along two others. The floor was a classic semi-sprung hardwood, dark with age and scuffed through decades of wear.

The stereo system was on, gentle music drifting from the speakers. Kakashi, dressed simply in fitted black slacks and a navy t-shirt, was dancing. It was incredibly graceful. It was also sad, as Kakashi kept to one side of the studio or other, his arm occasionally upraised, as if waiting for another person to appear and fill the space. Iruka felt that just looking was intruding into something very private.

The song ended. Kakashi stopped and looked up at the portrait on the wall of a blond man.

Iruka backed out and made some noise as he re-entered the room. Kakashi had turned toward the door. He was frowning.

"What?" asked Iruka.

"You're late."

"Sorry."

Kakashi kept frowning. This time it was at Iruka's feet.

"What now?" Iruka asked, feeling the stirring of irritation.

"You're wearing the wrong shoes."

"Sorry?" Iruka looked at Kakashi's feet, shod in black leather pumps, then back at his own well-used sneakers.

Kakashi sighed. "You can get shoes later. You should be okay for now." He poked at the stereo and swapped out the cd's. A spritely song with a strong percussion line began.

Iruka listened to the music, trying to find a rhythm he was familiar with and could move towards. He couldn't.

Kakashi took his arm and began to step forward and back. Iruka didn't.

"This is a samba," Kakashi said, as if he were speaking to a child.

"I don't know the samba."

Kakashi stopped. "I thought you said that you had taken dance," he said, exasperated.

"I had! When I was twelve!" protested Iruka. "I was leading, and it was straight ballroom."

"Straight?" asked Kakashi, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"You know - waltz, lindy, and foxtrot."

Kakashi sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He held up his hand and then extended a finger. "One, it's smooth or just ballroom, not straight. No one, seeing the two of us, will think it's straight." He extended another finger. "Forget everything you used to know about dance. We'll start from the beginning. Because we're doing Latin." He extended a third finger. "You will follow. No questions."

"But - "

"No questions."

Iruka subsided. Kakashi restarted the music and took Iruka's hand.

Iruka first started on the wrong foot, the leading foot. They began again.

"I lead, you follow."

"Sorry."

After a few more steps, Kakashi said, "You've got to move your hips. You're stiffer than a board."

"It's my straight training," Iruka protested.

"That might be okay in _ballroom_, but we're dancing the samba, which is Latin."

"Right."

"Now it's one and two, three and four," Kakashi bounced very lightly on the balls of his feet each time he spoke 'and.' "You get it?"

Iruka nodded. He waited, heard the rhythm and tried to follow.

Kakashi watched, and shook his head. "This." Then he demonstrated - his hips moving to the music in a way Iruka was certain Miss Nagiro would have definitely reprimanded them for.

"This?" Iruka tried to replicate what Kakashi had just done.

"No. Your straight training is not going to help you now," Kakashi said. "Feel the music, stop thinking so hard."

"This?" Iruka tried again. He was certain he was on the correct foot this time.

Impatiently, Kakashi grabbed Iruka by the hips. "This. Step and step, step and step, one and two, three and four." They moved together, Iruka feeling Kakashi's hips swiveling from side to side. He couldn't help but follow. "There. You see. Latin. Not ballroom and definitely not straight."

Iruka nodded, feeling a bit warm. Surely, it was because of the embarrassment of his ignorance, or maybe the unaccustomed activity before lunch. Nothing more.

* * *

At the end of the several hours, Iruka sat down on the floor. His feet were killing him. "Ouch!" Iruka said, slipping off his shoes. He peeled off his sock, noting the blisters.

"Pain is inevitable," Kakashi said. He tossed Iruka a box of bandages.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," grumbled Iruka, opening the box.

"It does mean you're going to have to live with it," Kakashi rejoined.

And so, with an aching back and sore feet, Iruka's training had begun.

* * *

To Iruka's surprise, Kakashi offered to make dinner.

"Don't look like that," Kakashi said. "It's not gourmet. It's noodles and sauce."

Iruka thanked Kakashi anyway. Probably disproportionately, but he was starving. The last person to make him a free meal was his aunt.

"What does your family think of this?" Iruka pointed downward to the studio.

Kakashi grunted. "What does yours?"

"Answering a question with a question is a bad habit," Iruka said. Good-naturedly, he replied, "My aunt knows where I am, that's the important thing. She's kind of thrilled, actually. She loved all the early Hollywood musicals with the dance numbers and made me watch them the whole time I was growing up. That's probably why she signed me up for dance classes in the first place." Iruka mused, "After all the extras she tried to give me, and the sacrifices she made raising me after my parents died, I couldn't ask her to pay for college. As long as it works out, she's pretty happy. So, what about your family?"

"Not much to tell." Kakashi stood and dropped his plate into the sink. "You'll do the clean-up, right?" He disappeared into his room.

Iruka was brought up to be a good boy and have manners. "Yes," he said, gritting his teeth. That's what his aunt would have wanted to hear. Even though he wanted to push Kakashi down the stairs right now, free room and board be damned.

* * *

The next morning, there was a knock on Iruka's door. The horrible bed made Iruka want to never, ever stand up straight again. When Iruka finally rolled up to a position resembling a human being with a working spine, Kakashi was gone.

Next to the cereal was a note. "Start eating like an athlete." Then there was a photocopied list of food suggestions for the athlete in training; whole grains, lean proteins, leafy vegetables. At the bottom of the note, Kakashi had scrawled, "Your turn to make dinner."

Iruka groaned. What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

After a week, Iruka could tell he was getting better. He could recognize the right rhythm for the samba, he could move his hips properly, he could hold a pose. This seemed to just irritate Kakashi.

"Hey," Iruka protested, annoyed. "I've gotten all the steps down you want me to. I'm smiling, my timing is good - "

Kakashi held up his hand and extended his thumb. "You've got samba largely down. But, you still need -" he extended his forefinger, "the cha-cha-cha," the middle finger, "the rhumba," another finger, "the paso doble," and his pinky, "the jive."

"Oh. Shit."

"The judges will be able to tell you don't have a lot of experience - there's no way to hide it. But you can still win. Every dance is a story. If you make them believe the story, then the experience won't matter as much."

"What's the story?" Iruka asked, curious.

Kakashi sighed. "It's a love story between the two dancers. Sometimes it's romantic love, sometimes it's just sex or good partnership, sometimes it's I love to hate you. Whatever the story, that's up to you to make it real enough for the judges to believe it. Everybody loves dancers in love."

"What story am I supposed to tell?"

"I don't care." Kakashi shrugged. "Just make it believable."

* * *

Most of their days were the same; separate breakfasts, dance, break for lunch, separate practices, and then dinner. There were half-days for errands, like shopping for the liniments and unguents Kakashi would casually recommend. Iruka managed to squeeze in a few visits to his aunt. Iruka didn't know what Kakashi did when he wasn't with him. For all Iruka knew, Kakashi was still working at the bar.

He found out late one night when he awoke to go to the bathroom. In the light of the single lamp, Kakashi had a book propped in his hand.

"What're you reading?" Iruka whispered.

Kakashi flashed him the cover: _Make-out Paradise, Special Collector's Edition._

Iruka humphed. _50 Shades of Grey _was more realistic, reality television was better scripted. He turned and went back to bed.

* * *

"Ouch!" Iruka hissed as he pulled off his sock. The biggest blister had broken, clear fluid and blood smeared all over the cotton. At least he knew where the bandages were kept.

Eagerly, Iruka looked in the box. There were only a few of the smallest bandages left. _Pain is inevitable. _

"Why haven't you gotten new shoes?" asked Kakashi.

"I looked," Iruka said. "They don't come cheap. _And_ I haven't been paid yet, either."

Kakashi said nothing, his face was completely unreadable, masklike. It was like he was made of stone, Iruka thought. Much like the bed. And then Iruka began to laugh.

Kakashi looked up in surprise. "Something funny?"

"No, nothing," Iruka said. Still, the laughter came in fits and starts. Finally, he explained about the bed.

"Why the hell are you so happy? Everyday, so cheerful, it's fucking annoying," Kakashi snapped. "Your feet are covered in blisters, you're eating my rotten cooking, you wake up in pain everyday, and you have to use crazy lotions and balms to try to to keep the aches away. And you're going to lose. I don't know why you haven't quit yet."

"Pain is inevitable," Iruka said, "But suffering is not."

Kakashi looked stricken. Iruka was afraid he had said too much, until Kakashi nodded. "You might be right."

A few days later, after dinner, Kakashi sat Iruka down in front of the television and put in a battered VCR tape. "I put this together a long time ago. You need to watch it so you can get a better idea of what the judges want."

"You leaving?"

"I've seen all of these before," Kakashi said with a shrug, but he stayed to watch. He commented on the performers and their styles. Some had particularly good body alignment, or foot and leg action, some had enviable rhythm. There was a double handful of criteria, some of which Iruka was afraid he might never attain. The judges seemed so critical that even if Iruka thought he was qualified, it seemed unlikely the judges would agree.

Kakashi fell abruptly silent when a tall blond man appeared on the screen, his partner a lovely red-haired woman. Iruka couldn't quite catch his breath. That man's picture hung in both Kakashi's and Miss Nagiro's studios.

Iruka could _see_ the love story between the couple as they danced. They were a combination of elegant and athletic and tremendously sexy. Their routine had precise timing, comic elements, and even some minor acrobatics. It was an amazing performance, even after a decade of changing standards.

Kakashi got up to leave, his eyes still on the screen as the final steps of the dance ended. "I forgot this was on the tape. They won Kuropuuru that year."

"How real was their story?" Iruka asked.

Kakashi paused at the entry of his room. "Real," he said, reluctantly. He pulled the door closed behind him.

Iruka grabbed the remote and rewound the tape to watch the routine again. No doubt about it. The couple, and their dance, their story, was stunning.

He slid down on the couch. It had terrible springs, which, when compared to his bed, was the most comfortable thing he had ever experienced. He was exhausted. The last thing he remembered was shutting his eyes for a second, just to rest them. The music from the tape faded into darkness.

Iruka awoke early the next morning, finding a comforter pulled over him. He didn't recognize it. It was very soft and very worn, with a hint of some amazing scent. He didn't remember the comforter being there when he fell asleep. Was it Kakashi's?

When he went to get breakfast, instead of the customary note next to the cereal, there was a medium-sized box. Inside was an envelope of money, and a pair of male Latin dance shoes. Iruka held the box to his chest and felt the most absurd pounding in his heart.

* * *

Kakashi was late coming into the studio that next day. He didn't quite smile, but there was something warm in his gaze. He walked up to Iruka, something vibrantly red and silky in his hand.

"What's that?" Iruka asked.

"Sash." Kakashi knelt down and tied the wide band of fabric around Iruka's waist, the ends coming down half-way down Iruka's left thigh. He stepped back and looked at his work, nodding. "That's the sign to the judges that you'll be following."

They smiled at each other. Kakashi gestured with a remote and the stereo turned on. Slow, sensuous music slithered out of the speakers. He tossed the remote into a corner.

Iruka stood, one heel tapping out the rhythm.

Kakashi came up to Iruka's side and running a hand down Iruka's body, a hair's breadth away from his skin.

Iruka stepped backward, and Kakashi stepped forward and caught at his arm. Iruka flung himself forward and around Kakashi, who wrapped his other arm around Iruka's waist. Together they stepped forward and backward, each movement bringing their bodies closer and closer. Iruka raised his face. He watched Kakashi's mouth as it came closer and closer. Iruka looked up at Kakashi's eyes, the pupils grown large and dark. He was suddenly aware of the heat coming off Kakashi's body, and then of his own hurrying breath. With each inhale, he was closer and closer to melting.

With a bang of the door, Rin and Obito barged in, faces somber.

"What?" Kakashi asked, dropping his arms, mask back on, the mood broken.

"There's an article in _International Dance_ about your imminent return to the dance floor," Rin said.

"You okay?" Obito asked Iruka.

Iruka stood, blinking, trying to recover. He and Kakashi had done those steps hundreds of times already why was this so different? Belatedly, he heard Obito's voice and nodded, although he hadn't really caught the words.

"You're mentioned in there, too," Obito said to Iruka.

"What?!" Iruka and Kakashi exclaimed together.

"Page eight," Rin said.

Kakashi ripped the magazine out of Rin's hands and skimmed the article. With a sharp exclamation, he tossed the magazine to the floor. "That's gossip and garbage."

Iruka stooped and picked up the magazine.

"International Dancer of Mystery Found!" The article breathlessly detailed the bet between Kakashi and Zabuza, including the description of Iruka as "a virgin dancer" and a part-time bartender.

The magazine opened up to a snapshot of a young, unscarred Kakashi dressed in violently puce frills, staring seriously at the the camera. There was also a photograph of the two of them standing close together, their arms around each other, their heads angled as if in intimate conversation.

Iruka was torn between laughter and outrage. "They make me sound so trashy! And where did they get these photos?"

"Zabuza probably called them," Obito speculated.

"A juicy piece like one about Kakashi - " Rin began.

"I don't think he's particularly juicy - " Iruka objected. Then, betrayingly, he felt himself flush. He stared down at the photo, as if trying to understand how that photographer had seen what was happening there.

"You better believe it," Rin countered. "Speculations about his whereabouts have been fueling the space inbetween the Royal Family's spats, Amelia Earhart's disappearance, and the latest sex scandal. The press will be thrilled to have anything new. That photo is from publicity shots he was doing for the televised International Series, ten years ago."

"They shouldn't have taken that picture in the studio," Kakashi growled. "I'm going to have to get curtains."

"But why this photo?" asked Iruka, gesturing to the dancing pose. "It's a terrible." The photo was grainy, likely from being zoomed into from far away, shadows falling across their bodies.

"There isn't anything to it," Kakashi said. "I'm just not yelling at Iruka. For once."

"Well," said Rin, "if you're not yelling, it's a sign of fondness. Maybe even praise."

Iruka shot a quick look at Kakashi, who dismissed the notion with a flick of his hand.

Obito sighed. "This shot was probably the best one the paparazzi could get. Why? Because of money. Photos of Kakashi and with a partner can go for a lot of money. A LOT," he emphasized.

"On a positive note, it will definitely bring up interest about your entry in the Land of Waves International," commented Rin.

Kakashi cursed, succinctly and forcefully. "I was really hoping to get in there under the radar. Maybe drop out if things didn't work out."

"You mean if I didn't work out," Iruka said, accusing.

Kakashi didn't deny it. He just stared at Iruka.

Rin grabbed Iruka and pulled him away, but not before he heard Obito arguing with Kakashi.

"What do you think you're doing?" Obito asked, exasperated.

"Hedging my bets," Kakashi said. "He might not be cut out for this."

"Don't listen to him," Rin said, dragging Iruka out of the studio. "Come on. Obito's going to talk some sense into Kakashi and we're going to let him do it."

They walked in silence, ending up at a family restaurant a few blocks from the studio.

"You have to understand something really important about Kakashi," Rin said.

"What?"

"That's how he protects people."

"What?"

"By pushing them away. He's done it before and he'll do it again."

"Seems to be working."

"I want to shake you!" Rin exclaimed. "He doesn't want you to feel the pressure and the pain. He was trying to give you an option. The problem now is that the article is going to make it impossible for you to back out."

"But I never said I wanted to."

"Good. Because now, there's no way to without serious publicity problems, for you and the competition."

"Is it the money? Is that why he's bothered?" Iruka asked, thinking guiltily of the shoes, the cash in the envelope, the entry fees, the travel arrangements.

"You don't have to worry about that," Rin waved off Iruka's concern. "Kakashi's rich."

Iruka raised a sceptical eyebrow. They both knew the spartan conditions of the studio and the apartments.

Rin caught that look and returned it with a firm nod. "Believe me. He's fine."

"Then why does he live like that?" Iruka asked.

Rin fumbled with a napkin. "I think that he feels like he doesn't deserve better. I think it goes back to Minato. Maybe earlier."

"What is it about his teacher that bothers Kakashi so much?" asked Iruka.

Rin looked like she wanted to cry. "Kakashi was probably in love with Minato. I mean, we all were. Me, Obito, everybody who knew him loved him. It was impossible not to love Minato. Kakashi didn't care about a lot of people, especially back then. His father was a total stage-dad. He was crazy for money and fame and he didn't care if he sacrificed his son for them. Minato saved Kakashi."

"And then they - Minato, Kushina and Kakashi - were in a car crash. Kakashi was driving. Then Minato and Kushina died. Reporters and photographers showed up at the hospital, the funeral, the studio - everywhere. They even broke into his old apartment. It was terrible. Everybody blamed Kakashi, and he blamed himself. Even though the other driver was drunk."

Rin took a reviving drink of water. "Because of the accident, Kakashi hurt his eye. For a while, they thought he had lost his depth perception, and wouldn't be able to drive or dance anymore. He thought the best thing to do was disappear. And he did."

* * *

There was a new grimness to Kakashi now, a keenness in his eye that wasn't there before. Time seemed to be hounding Kakashi. Kakashi, in turn, drove Iruka to practice harder and harder.

The only time Kakashi lost that hardness was during the interviews Rin had set up. She had explained, over Kakashi's strong objections, that the interviews were necessary to counterbalance the gossipy negative items in the news and on the internet.

Then, he played at such warmth and approachability that Iruka could almost believe it. For the length of time the reporter or photographer was with them, Kakashi cared. He touched Iruka constantly, casually, draping an arm over the back of Iruka's chair, taking Iruka's hand.  
He blathered on carelessly, fondly, about how the competition was just a showcase for Iruka's talent, about his not-really-a-comeback comeback, about dance, and Iruka, and their time together made all the effort worth it.

For his part, Iruka couldn't help but react to Kakashi's warmth and approachability. He leaned back toward Kakashi's body, flushing delicately at the attention, readily laughing at any joke Kakashi made, no matter how terrible.

It seemed to be working, too, as the press seemed to be most favorably inclined toward Kakashi and the competition and even Iruka.

Once the reporter or photographer left, Kakashi closed himself off. And Iruka's chest ached. _It's up to the dancers to make it real enough for the judges to believe it. Everybody loves dancers in love._

* * *

One evening, Iruka found the door to the roof was left ajar. Cautiously, he walked up the stairs and through the propped-open outer door.

It was a clear sky, but that wasn't what Iruka was looking at. His eyes were drawn over to the very edge of the roof. Silvery head tipped backward, Kakashi was staring up at the enormous golden moon and the twinkling stars.

Iruka approached him, cautiously.

"Competition's tomorrow. Are you packed?" Kakashi asked without looking away from the sky.

Thinking about Rin's exhortations about the proper way to pack for a dance competition and Obito's well-meaning lectures on avoiding signing anything that wasn't a straight autograph, Iruka nodded. "Yes," he said.

"No, you're not," Kakashi said.

"What? I double-checked everything - " Iruka said, annoyed. Had Kakashi seen through the door? His dance costume; a white shirt, red sash and black trousers, was hanging off the back of his door, waiting. Sure, he hadn't packed it, yet. But he didn't dare. Rin would be furious if they were wrinkled.

Kakashi held out a small box.

When Iruka raised a questioning eyebrow, Kakashi nodded. Iruka took the box and opened it. Nestled inside black velvet was a hair clip; white rhinestones glittered, red shone dull and dark in the light of the moon.

"For the performance," Kakashi said.

Iruka nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Kakashi smiled, then, a smile that caused Iruka to stare in amazement. The tenderness in that smile, a smile just for him. For such a smile, Iruka would do almost anything, believe anything.

"You're so much like him," Kakashi said. He passed by so quickly Iruka almost didn't feel the kiss pressed against his cheek, light as a breeze.

* * *

Their arrival at Kuropuuru International Latin Dance Championships was total chaos. There were fans, spectators, the press, the other contestants and their entourages. Iruka had never been anywhere like this. He'd only seen such things on television or in magazines. It was exhilarating and a bit frightening. All of these people were here because of him, and people like him. Everybody wanted to meet them, get their autographs, take photographs with them.

The day of the competition, Iruka was nervous as heck. There were several elimination rounds, with groups of ten couples per round. He was silenced for a moment as Kakashi emerged from the dressing room, dressed all in black. Kakashi looked great, from the tips of his long-sleeve unbuttoned shirt on down to his black suede shoes. He nodded at Iruka, unsmiling. "Number 61." Iruka nodded, acknowledging the number by which they would be known, the number pasted onto Kakashi's back.

The ballroom in Kuropuuru was large and old-fashioned. High ceilings covered with plaster angels and painted swags of laurels mixed with modern stage lighting, cameras and mounted speakers. The audience was packed, there wasn't a single free seat in the stands that circled the enormous, blond parquet floor. Iruka barely took that in before the first round eliminations began. He saw Haku and Zabuza, couple number 14, in matching blue shirts. Haku was incredibly good. Iruka's heart sank. There was no way, absolutely no way he would do better than Haku. The young man didn't dance so much as he glided over the floor, drawing attention to his finely honed skills. Iruka was almost sick with envy.

There was the second set of eliminations, their turn to dance Kakashi grasped Iruka's hand and led him out onto the dance floor. The first notes played. The jive. Iruka was not a big fan. It was the last of the dances he had learned and the steps were incredibly fast and high-kicking. He was afraid his discomfort might show. But he wouldn't dare be eliminated now, not so early, with Kakashi's name on the line.

There was a third set of eliminations. While Iruka was interested to see the other dancers, he was too nervous to really take in their steps before, and he tried to relax. Kakashi sat next to him, looking bored enough to seem asleep. More rounds occurred. Finally, the judges took a break to discuss the standings. Time flew, and then it crawled. The longer the judges were gone, the more Iruka became nervous.

Then at last came the finals. Couple number 61 had been recalled to the dance floor, along with couple number 14, and four other couples. They jogged out to the dance floor, the audience applauding. Zabuza did not miss the opportunity to preen himself in front of Kakashi, who ignored it. The music began. Cha-cha-cha. Paso-doble. The jive, again. Then came the rhumba. Iruka liked the rhumba, liked the slower, more deliberate pace.

Iruka watched the other couples out of the corner of his eye. The judges that circulated among them had made Iruka hyper-aware of his position relative to all the other bodies on the floor. Haku and Zabuza were very near them. As Haku entered into the final steps of their dance, with the judges nearly on top of them, something happened. Haku missed a step, throwing a leg out towards Iruka, nearly tripping him. Far away, the audience gasped. Iruka dodged and recovered, nimbly stepping towards the very edge of the stage.

As he did so, he wondered, how could Haku, this amazing dancer, falter so badly? He couldn't understand it.

But there was no time to think - there was still the last dance, the samba.

Iruka smiled. He knew what to do, what story he was going to tell. Because he loved Kakashi and he wanted the judges to know. Iruka, in his new dance shoes, in his new dance outfit, danced his heart out. He only had eyes for Kakashi, knowing that his dance, his story, would be believable, because it was real. Kakashi moved with him, whirling him, holding his hand, stepping with him, and then away and then back, ardent and infinitely tender. It almost felt as if Kakashi returned his feelings. Almost as if it were a love story.

It was over too soon. They finished to great applause.

Iruka was so nervous, he couldn't sit still in the stands. The judges re-emerged. They began announcing the scores. "Sixth place, couple number 14, Zabuza Momochi and Haku Yuki." Zabuza roared in distress, grabbed Haku's hand and disappeared.

Iruka bit a knuckle as fifth through third place was announced. Happy couples stepped forward as their names and numbers were called out.

"Second place, couple number 61, the team of Kakashi Hatake and Iruka Umino."

Iruka threw his hands up and yelled in disbelieving glee. Kakashi dropped the cool demeanor and grabbed Iruka, squeezing him so hard he could hardly breathe.

* * *

After they received the prize, Rin stood waiting. "Second place for your first international championship, not bad," she said, smiling all over. "Especially with what happened with Haku."

"You saw that?" Iruka asked.

"Everybody saw it. You'd be blind not to," Obito said. He jerked a thumb to the exit. "Hey, you want to get some dinner?"

"Why don't you guys go on ahead?" Kakashi suggested.

"What're you going to do?" asked Iruka, lingering.

"I'm leaving," Kakashi said, his mien flat.

"Really? That's all? You're not going to celebrate?" Iruka was incredulous.

"Competition's over," Kakashi said. "The worst thing in the world is hanging on too long. You taught me that."

"Oh," Iruka said, his voice starting to clog up. He didn't exactly know how to say the words he wanted to say.

"Go have dinner with Rin and Obito. They'll tell you about what happens after the prizes are given. You can't go back to what it was like before. Everything thing is different now. You're different. People know you now. They'll want to sponsor you. Obito can set you up with contracts and Rin knows lots of people. You can make it with your talent and hard work."

Suddenly afraid, Iruka said, "Why don't you come with me? With us?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Doesn't matter." Deliberately, he said, "Whatever happened out there on the dance floor... Don't believe it. It's just the dance. It's tricked more than one person."

Iruka grabbed Kakashi's arm. He tore the rhinestone ornament off his ponytail and pressed it into Kakashi's hand. "Then you should take this with you. It was only for the performance, right?"

Kakashi looked from Iruka's anguished face, framed by long brown strands, down to the glittery fake shine of the rhinestones. Without looking up, Kakashi dropped the ornament to the ground. He walked away without a backwards glance.

* * *

In the morning, Iruka found that Kakashi had made arrangements for Iruka to go back home with Rin and Obito. A cold comfort. Still, he waited for them in the lobby of the hotel.

But he wasn't the only one alone. He saw Haku standing by himself behind a big potted palm. Iruka went over to Haku.

Haku looked up and smiled. It was heartbreakingly lovely and sad. "I'm sorry," Haku apologized. "For what happened yesterday. It was my fault. Forgive me."

Taken off-guard at Haku's admission, Iruka asked, "Why did you throw the contest? I saw that last misstep. That wasn't a mistake."

"You could tell?"

"You're too good for that to be an accident."

"Zabuza spoke about how much he couldn't allow Kakashi to win, that he wanted nothing more than to have Kakashi fail, even if that meant he did too. And I wanted him to have anything he wanted, even if I had to sacrifice myself. Everything I have done, all the pain and suffering, I have done for him. And I would again."

Iruka nodded, slowly.

"I thought you would understand," Haku said, his voice soft. "I've watched you, too." He picked up his bags and walked out to a waiting taxi.

* * *

Ai Umino opened the mailbox and retrieved its contents. There was a lot of mail these days, almost all of it addressed to Iruka.

Not only was there a lot of fanmail, but also offers from sponsors, competitions, and new partners. But Iruka didn't seem to want sponsors, or to enter more competitions, or another partner. He refused to sign anything that wasn't a straight autograph. When he had first moved back, people had stopped on the streets and pointed him out. Now, people still recognized him, but in the vague way that they tried to remember an old pleasant episode on television, no longer in the sharp, hungry way they did when he had first came home.

She had been worried about him since he had moved back home. He had told her that he wanted to get back to normal. But he wasn't acting normally. She knew her nephew. She was there when he had been born `and she had raised him for more than half his life. It wasn't like him to sit around the house, moping, doing nothing. Something had happened to her boy. She had a hunch as to what; having seen the live broadcast of the dance competition.

"There's something for you in the mail," she said, holding out an envelope.

"Just put it with the rest," Iruka said, jerking his head over to the small, tidy pile sitting next to his reading lamp.

"It's from Kakashi Hatake."

Iruka rushed over to snatch it out of her hand. He tore it open. As he looked in it, his mouth dropped wide. "It's not right," Iruka said. "It's too much. I couldn't have earned all this." He shook his head. He showed her the check. To Ai's eyes, it seemed a very large amount. "This is all the winnings."

"Where you going?" she asked as he shoved on his shoes.

"Out," he replied.

"When will you be back?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Good luck," she yelled as the door shut behind him.

* * *

Kakashi didn't turn his head when he heard Iruka's footsteps behind him as he stood, leaning against the low wall of the roof. "I guess this is what happens when your tenant doesn't return the keys," he drawled. "They come back to haunt you."

"I saw the For Sale sign on the club door," Iruka said.

Kakashi shrugged. "It was time to do something else."

"I came to give these back to you." Iruka proffered the check.

"Keep it." Kakashi didn't even look. "You earned it."

Iruka lowered his hand, hesitating. He wondered if he should just ditch the check on the roof. Slowly, he said, "You were right. The whole experience has changed me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Iruka said. "I wanted to tell you something."

Kakashi looked at him expectantly.

"It's a love story. Between two dancers." Iruka took a deep breath. "Haku told me that everything he had done for Zabuza - all the blisters and sore muscles and everything - he said he would do it again, for free."

"The kid's a fool. Suffering like that for Zabuza."

"Then you should call me a fool, too," Iruka said, his voice unsteady. "Because I would do the same for you." He didn't know if he could have said it until he did, but now that he had, he wondered what would happen.

Kakashi turned away. Iruka thought this was the end of it. That he had made his bid and had failed. "Kakashi," Iruka said, desperately, "It's not just a story. It's not just dance."

"Shut up," Kakashi said harshly. "Just shut your mouth."

"Even if you don't care about me, I want you to know that I'm grateful to you for everything you've taught me. You've been a great teacher- "

"I've been an asshole," Kakashi said. "My own teacher would have been ashamed of me. And you are so much like him."

Iruka blurted out, "You've said that before, and I don't understand - how you can compare me to him - is that supposed to hurt -?"

Kakashi moved, faster than Iruka thought possible. "How can you not know?" He grabbed Iruka and clasped him tightly to himself. "You are so real, so honest. Do you know how impossible it is to be near you and not care for you?" Kakashi asked. "I pretended that you loved me outside of the dance. Because that's what the dance does. Then I began to really believe. I thought I was immune. I was wrong. And if I could be wrong, and feel this way - with all the experience I've got - how could you know any different?" He pulled away. "But because of that, I had to give you some distance, some time. I wanted you to see me clearly enough to give up on me. I want the best for you. I'm not that."

"Don't be stupid," Iruka retorted. "I came back to you. Isn't that how the story is supposed to end?"

"This is real life. If you have any second thoughts, leave now. I won't let you go later."

"You shut up," Iruka said lovingly. "I intend to stay with you, for as long as you want me."

"It'll be tough," Kakashi warned. "Painful, even."

"Sure," Iruka said. "You'll probably suffer." Then he smiled. "But it's inevitable."

* * *

**A/N-**

I am not a dancer, and I apologize for any mistakes or misrepresentations. Information was found on wikipedia, youtube, DancesportUSA, World Dance Council websites about competitions, dress codes (which I am aware I have violated), etc.

Haku is from the Yuki clan.

Kuropuuru = my bad translation of "Blackpool." Homage to Blackpool, England, which is home to a world famous annual ballroom dance competition.

From the playlist:

Samba:  
Luisa Maita, Lero-Lero  
Paulinho da Viola, Foi um rio que Passou em Minha Vida

cha-cha-cha  
Jessica Jay, Chilly Cha cha  
Cama y Mesa, Orquesta la Palabra  
Rey Ruiz, El Diablo Anda Suelto

rhumba:  
Bonga, Paxi Ni Ngongo  
Ana Belen, No Se Porque Te Quiero

jive:  
Orkiestra Adama Sztaby, Hafanana (jive)  
Atomic Fireballs, Swing Sweet Pussycat  
Louis Prima, Jump, Jive and Wail

paso-doble:  
Luis Cobos, El Gato Montes  
Banda Taurino, Espana Cani


End file.
